


Merry Go Round.

by NoelleWynters



Category: Once Upon a Time in Wonderland (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:51:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8028502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleWynters/pseuds/NoelleWynters
Summary: Time spent alone in a bottle gave one far more chances than needed to reflect on where they went wrong.





	Merry Go Round.

**Author's Note:**

> General disclaimer applies - I own nothing, this is all for fun.
> 
> This was written for fan_flashwork's last amnesty round, the prompt is _Stages_. I'm just slow uploading it.

The silence was deafening, for all the sounds echoing at various decibels outside of the polished brass of what he called home, none seemed to register as he sat quietly among the various pillows strewn about. Laughter falling from the mouths of children or the shouts of people across the marketplace meant nothing to him; all he waited for was the moment someone picked up the bottle and summoned him.

Bringing him back into the world, making him real again.

At one time, he mused, he'd been real. Was he still? Cyrus' dark eyes moved towards the grating at the bottom of his bottle, a view of the world that carried on outside without him. It was fortunate it had been knocked over, aside from he hated how he always found himself tumbling around like a rag doll until it came to a stop. The world kept moving forward whilst he was frozen, forever twenty-five despite the hundreds of years he'd live thus far and the hundreds, if not millennia more, he would live yet.

Once upon a time, in a life he almost felt was a forgotten dream, he'd been part of a family. A well loved second born son, the annoying little brother that the oldest delighted in terrifying at every turn. That ended once Cyrus learned to talk, at that point Taj realized he could tattle on him and it was probably best not to end on the wrong end of their parent's temper. That mainly applied to their mother, as Cyrus still could not recall much of their father aside from a shadow of a tall man who came and went.

At least until shortly after Rafi's first birthday, he went and never came back again.

The second of three sons, and he had the sneaking suspicion he was always slightly favoured by their mother. His usual lopsided grin began to tug at the one corner of his mouth, he really shouldn't be proud of that fact but centuries serving greedy mortals had not silenced his delight in that. She'd loved them all, each she indulged probably more than she should have, but he knew well enough she had normally turned a blind eye to his mischief and trouble making.

Taj had kept quiet, merely patching him up when he got in over his head while Rafi just encouraged it. Perhaps if they'd all clamped down on his antics things would have ended differently, but as it was it had all come tumbling down after an ill fated card game and trip to the Well of Wonders.

It was then everything shattered; he was no longer a beloved son and brother. His friends erased from his life and the young woman he had confessed his love for only a few nights before the misadventure, nothing more than memories to plague him. Faces to haunt his dreams as the anguished cries of his brothers and mother often rang in his ears during frequent quiet moments alone.

All of it, gone. No longer mortal, but cursed to an immortal life and enslaved by magic for being arrogant enough to steal it for his own desires.

Cyrus frowned, the heel of one boot kicking the side that currently served as a floor, his nose wrinkling at the very thought. Was he to simply allow their mother to die for his mistake? That seemed to be the answer, although he knew full well the guilt would have destroyed him in the end.

The guardian was rather cruel, and her punishment far more terrible then he could have dreamed. His guilt was worse now, having left their mother to her remaining years alone and cursing his brothers along with him.

Who was he now? The thought raced through his mind quite often, more than he would ever admit if anyone ever bothered to ask. He wasn't a son, his mother long dead as indicated by the constantly spinning compass he kept close. Did his brothers long to find him as much as he did them?

Cyrus snorted at the very notion, pushing himself up and slowly walking towards the grating to get a better look at the outside world. He was in Agrabah once again, something about the little he could see told him that he had found his way to the city of his birth. 

Were his brothers here? If he could find them, what would they say? Taj, he was convinced, would possibly cuff him upside the head for his arrogance. Something he would deserve, he couldn't argue it. Rafi may be a little more forgiving, but in the end they had still lost their mother.

They would never forgive him that.

Settling once more, he inhaled slowly. His bottle was close to the marketplace; he could smell the strong scent of cardamon and cinnamon. The welcoming scents brought a soft smile to his face, although it meant little as he may be home again, but he wasn't part of the city or the world. Nor did he belong to the human race.

Cyrus knew he was a genie, nothing more. So many masters, more than he could count now, had ingrained that well in his mind. Exploiting his weaknesses to keep him from ever acting out, not that he often tried, and making certain most everything said was worded as a command he could not refuse. His head dropped forward at the memories, eyes squeezing shut as if to block the thoughts from entering his mind.

His hands clenched for a moment, anger at all those who had treated him so poorly all because their wishes had gone awry. Why did they never listen? Magic always came with a price, and he knew that better than most. Those masters had not been stealing it, but it didn't matter. Nothing came for free, for each wish there had to be a cost to even it all out. Perhaps it was to deter people from wanting to use magic, or to seek out genies.

A thought he'd pondered often, but in the end he wasn't sure he'd like to be left forgotten.

Was his anger solely based around the treatment he'd suffered, or what his brothers may be enduring as well? Had they managed to come around to this change far easier than he had? Taj had always been the one to go with how the winds blew over the desert; nothing seemed to phase him much. He could play the part easily if required. Rafi as well, although he'd probably dislike it.

Then probably not as much as their foolish brother that landed them in their bottles and lamp.

Leaning his head back, he listless watched people wander past, or what he could see of them. No, he wasn't part of that world anymore. He was an observer, nothing more. A magical slave who simply did as commanded, with no feelings or thoughts that belonged to himself when among the human race. Those had to be kept for moments such as this, when he was alone in his bottle to contemplate where he'd gone wrong.

Cyrus knew when that had been, it wasn't hard to pinpoint. If only he'd listened to Taj's warning, or even that of the guardian, then none of this would have happened.

Perhaps he should have stolen the water on his own, then only he would be suffering this loss of self. Struggling to accept his new reality fully; to finally let go of any lingering notion that at one time he had been human. Once that he'd been loved, and had loved others.

Once upon a time there had been a life where he had been known as Cyrus, second son of Amara and the annoyance of a brother to Taj and Rafi. A young man keen on causing mischief wherever he went, which most swore would be his downfall. The light of a particular young woman's eye, and he had realized too late that he wanted to spend his life with her as well.

That was gone now, he mused as he heard a sudden halt of footsteps by his bottle. Leaning forward, he rested his hands along the grating as he tried to see if someone may pick it up. There was a shadow, moving downward into a crouched position.

With a soft sigh, Cyrus waited to be summoned and to once again resume the same routine. Once released he was no longer Cyrus, only a genie to be commanded to the will of the one who held his bottle.

As much as he wanted to fight it, to hold on to who he truly was Cyrus realized he would be far better off if he accepted his fate. It was one of his own making after all.


End file.
